The War Trail | Page 7

both horse and rider.
Just at that moment, the ranger, who held picket on that side of the
village, sprang forth from his hiding-place, and challenged the
horseman to halt. The challenge was unheeded. Another jerk of the rein
spun the mustang round, as upon a pivot; and the next instant, impelled
by the spur, the animal resumed his gallop. He did not return by the
road, but shot off in a new direction, nearly at right angles to his former

course. A rifle-bullet would have followed, and most likely have
stopped the career of either horse or rider, had not I, just in the "nick"
of time, shouted to the sentry to hold his fire.
A reflection had occurred to me; the game was too noble, too beautiful,
to be butchered by a bullet; it was worth a chase and a capture.
My horse was by the water-trough. I had noticed that he was not yet
unsaddled, and the bridle was still on. He had been warmed by the
morning's scout; and I had ordered my negro groom to walk him round
for an hour or so before letting him at the water.
I did not wait to descend by the escalera; I sprang upon the parapet,
and from that into the piazza. The groom, perceiving my intention, met
me half-way with the horse.
I seized the reins, and bounded into the saddle. Several of the readiest
of the rangers followed my example; and as I galloped down the lane
that led out of the rancheria, I could tell by the clattering of hoofs that
half-a-dozen of them were at my heels. I cared not much for that, for
surely I was a match for the stripling we meant to chase. I knew,
moreover, that speed at the moment was of more importance than
strength; and that if the spotted horse possessed as much "bottom" as he
evidently did "heels," his rider and I would have it to ourselves in the
end. I knew that all the horses of my troop were less swift than my own;
and from the half-dozen springs I had witnessed on the part of the
mustang, I felt satisfied that it remained only for me to overhaul him.
My springing down from the roof and up into the saddle had occupied
scarcely two minutes' time; and in two more, I had cleared the houses,
and was scouring across the fields after the scarlet horseman. He was
evidently making to get round the village, and continue the journey our
presence had so suddenly interrupted.
The chase led through a field of milpas. My horse sank deeply in the
loose earth, while the lighter mustang bounded over it like a hare. He
was distancing me, and I began to fear I should lose him, when all at
once I saw that his course was intercepted by a list of magueys, running

transversely right and left. The plants were of luxuriant growth, eight or
ten feet high, and placed alternately, so that their huge hooked blades
interlocked with each other, forming a natural chevaux-de-frise.
This barrier at first glance seemed impassable for either man or horse.
It brought the Mexican to a halt. He was turning to skirt it, when he
perceived that I had leaned into the diagonal line, and could not fail to
head him. With a quick wrench upon the rein, he once more wheeled
round, set his horse against the magueys, plied the spur, and dashed
right into their midst. In a moment, both horse and rider were out of
sight; but as I spurred up to the spot, I could hear the thick blades
crackle under the hoofs of the mustang.
There was no time for reflection. I must either follow, or abandon the
pursuit. The alternative was not thought of. I was on my honour, my
steed upon his mettle; and without halt we went plunging through the
magueys.
Torn and bleeding, we came out on the opposite side; and I perceived,
to my satisfaction, that I had made better time than the red rider before
me; his halt had lessened the distance between us.
But another field of milpas had to be passed, and he was again gaining
upon me, as we galloped over the heavy ground.
When nearly through the field, I perceived something glancing before
us: it was water--a wide drain or ditch, a zequia for irrigating the field.
Like the magueys, it ran transversely to our course.
"That will stop him," thought I; "he must take to the right or left, and
then--"
My thoughts were interrupted. Instead of turning either to right or left,
the Mexican headed his horse at the zequia, and the noble creature
rushing forward, rose like a bird upon the wing, and cleared the